Your Future Our Clutter

Domino; 2010

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The only thing more unstable than the Fall's membership over the past 34 years has been their label situation. Fall figurehead Mark E. Smith seems happy to release his music on any ol' label that'll have him, whether it's A-list indies (Beggars Banquet, Rough Trade), under-the-radar imprints (Narnack, Action Records), or companies best known for issuing budget-series classic-rock concert DVDs (Eagle Rock). These shifts are emblematic of the band's own tumble along the mainstream/underground divide, creating those rips in the space-time continuum that allow the Fall to score the occasional Top 40 UK chart entry, Mark E. Smith to get gigs reading soccer scores on national sports telecasts, or "Hip Priest" to become the key punchline in yet another Hitler/Downfall video parody.

But in a career that's defied all logic and convention, the Fall's signing to Domino makes perfect sense, given both the label's own over/underground balancing act and the fact that the Fall's influence can be felt in many of Domino's marquee acts (Franz Ferdinand and Arctic Monkeys among them). And while there's rarely been a correlation between the accessibility of a given Fall album and the profile of the label releasing it, the lean, brute-force rockers on Your Future Our Clutter suggest that the Fall might actually be taking this upgrade to Domino seriously.

The new album was recorded with the same lineup that debuted on 2008's Imperial Wax Solvent, but you'd never know it without close inspection of the liners-- in sharp contrast to that album's playful, sloppy sprawl (typified by the hilarious centerpiece ramble "50 Year Old Man"), Your Future Our Clutter sees Smith assuming the role of military drill sergeant to unleash a more pointed offensive against The Kids. From the opening theme "O.F.Y.C. Showcase" onward, Smith outfits his charges with single-chord morse-code riffs and lockstep rhythms before gradually ratcheting up the intensity; by the time we hit the gonzo second act of "Y.F.O.C./Slippy Floor", the Fall are thrashing about like a totally wired Led Zeppelin. And whether Smith is shouting, "Your Future! Our Clutter!" or "Our Future! Your Clutter!"-- as he's wont to invert them-- he sounds particularly enthused by the prospect of leaving the next generation to inherit a world of shit.

Your Future Our Clutter is noticeably bereft of the call-and-response group chants that defined the Fall's mid-1980s classics as well as its most recent successes (see: "Theme From Sparta FC", "What About Us?"). Instead, Smith's free-ranging rants gain focus as the music accrues momentum and menace: "Bury Pts. 1 + 3" takes a verse-by-verse ascension from lo-fi to fierce hi-fi stomper, as if to mock those who intentionally use crude production values-- "a new way of recording," Smith sneers, "a chain around the neck." But Smith also invests Your Future Our Clutter with moments of surprising sensitivity (disquieting ballad "Weather Report 2") and self-aware reflection: During the late-night prowl of "Chino", Smith repeats, "When do I quit?" Coming from any other grizzled 53-year-old artist, you might interpret that statement as an admission of mortality and humility. But given the irrepressible vitality heard throughout Your Future Our Clutter, it's a question that, I'm happy to report, still has no answer.